


The Beginning

by Inner Voice (inner_v0ice)



Series: Taking Flight [1]
Category: Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inner_v0ice/pseuds/Inner%20Voice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The weather is hot and dusty and Pietros is tired and clumsy today.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> written for olansamuelle's prompt in the spartacus2010 Comment Fic Fest

Pietros knows how to deal with the gladiators by now. Be quick, always be quick; fetch and carry and be efficient and disappear into the shadows as soon as possible. Hurry to your next task with eyes safely down. Don't give them time for more than a pinch on the ass or a passing grope. Disappear into the house and they'll soon be distracted by pounding the practice dummies, forgetting the idea of pounding _you._

The weather is hot and dusty and Pietros is tired and clumsy today. The cook is furious with him for spilling most of the pot of soup; there'll be hell to pay from the gladiators if the new batch isn't ready in time for their meal. He's hurrying back from the storeroom with the jar of olives the cook sent him for, when _of course_ the jar slips in his hand. And falls. And shatters and scatters the olives all over the dusty floor. Pietros bites back a curse and drops to his knees, scrambling to pick all the olives up. The gladiators will be coming in any moment now.

A pair of large hands suddenly joins his in picking up the olives, and Pietros nearly jumps out of his skin. Barca is crouched beside him, cat-silent and looming large...and apparently absorbed in making sure that every olive gets picked up.

What the _fuck?_

Pietros forces down his panic at Barca's closeness, forces himself to continue his task without question. A gladiator can do whatever the hell he wants. Even pick up olives from the floor.

Pietros' hands are full, and so are Barca's; everything has been picked up. Barca moves as if to pour the olives from his hands to Pietros', and the backs of their fingers brush. Pietros _does not flinch_ by an act of will, and keeps his eyes down as he hurries away from Barca and back into the storeroom. He drops his double handful of olives into an empty clay pot and _does-not-flinch_ again when Barca leans over his shoulder-- _damn_ the man, how could someone so big move so quietly?--and carefully pours out his own handful.

Pietros snatches up the pot and turns to go back to the kitchen, but Barca is _still there_ planted solidly between him and the door and he ends up nose-to-chin with the man, staring at the gladiator's collarbone from beneath lowered lashes. By this time Pietros' whole body is rigid with tension. Barca has never been one of the cruel ones--has actually never touched him before--but being alone in the storeroom with a gladiator is _stupid stupid stupid_ , just _asking_ for trouble.

"At least promise me that you'll wash those off before I see them on my plate," Barca says, breaking the silence. Is that...amusement in his voice? Pietros risks raising his head a little and sees the man's lips quirked into a smile.

"...with the weather today, they'll just get dusty all over again," Pietros ventures daringly, and is rewarded by a slight deepening of Barca's smile. He raises his head a little further to look at the man's face, and freezes all over again at the look in his eyes. Barca's gaze is intensely focused on him, with an all-too-familiar heat. _Stupid stupid stupid_ and there's no way to get to the door. Pietros braces himself for whatever may come--then his breath whooshes out in startled relief as Barca steps aside and clears the path to the door, still smiling that faint smile.

Pietros ducks his head in silent, bewildered thanks and hurries back to the kitchen. He washes the olives thoroughly, despite the cook's demands that he hurry the fuck up, the gladiators are waiting.

He knows how to deal with the gladiators by now, but he has no idea what to do with Barca.

\---


End file.
